And So Ever After, As Long As He Lived
by Mae34
Summary: In which a ballad is botched, John is made to run for his life and Sherlock is renamed 'Locksley'… which he will hate. AU Gen one-shot.


There was a time long ago when life was simple for John. He was the seventh son of the seventh son and was, therefore, absolved of any responsibility but his own.

That was how he liked it. When he was a boy, he couldn't take a morning stroll around the grounds without nearly being run over by a cousin or a sibling.

_"Come on, John!" his cousin would call to him while John's older brother pulled him along. "I hear there's a secret passage around this castle and I refuse to live my life in ignorance as to where it is and where it leads! You have a knack for finding trouble so you must come with us!"_

Now, his adventurous cousin was long dead. As was his wayward brother. Their gravestones were marked by the nicks and stains made only by time.

John, the seventh son of the seventh son, was the only son left in such a large and venerated family and even his own time was coming short. The sounds of pursuit were coming near and John would be forced to flee his temporary hiding spot in these wretched mulberry bushes. If they caught him, they had orders to return their prisoner unharmed. John knew that for he heard the order from the cruelest and vilest man he had the displeasure of meeting.

He had no intention to be recaptured. His family was gone, his best friend dead and the kingdom he fought and nearly died for had turned on him and his name.

What was the point to return to the dungeons when a fight to his death was a more suitable and appealing end?

He never intended to be written into the history books. Now, it seems he was fated to be a legend.

John waited a little longer until he was certain his pursuers were far enough away not to hear him when he made a break for the river. They were currently sidetracked with his false trail, but it wouldn't be too long before they got wise and realized John's destination.

If he got to the river and if he got to the bridge, the passage into the forest would be narrow and they would be forced to come at him a few at a time. There he could fight instead flee. John mentally shivered at the thought of being so exposed on the bridge. A good archer would be able to end any disagreement before it even started, but, for once, the orders of his unscathed return played in his favor.

In a burst of speed, he sprang from his spot and pushed his legs towards his only salvation.

If he got to the bridge, he had a chance.

There was an abrupt sound on his far left and he would have heard the muffled curses if he wasn't concentrating on speed. It seemed he still had a tracker closer to him than he originally thought. The crashing sounds of branches and thuds on the ground told John that man wasn't too far behind him.

He should have wept at the sight of the old rackety foot bridge but that would have required a spare breath he couldn't afford. He ran closer and closer until the tempo of his feet changed as it crossed over the river and he caught sight of a tree branch lying on the other side. It was a bit thick for his tastes but it was straight and sturdy and would have to do if he wanted to defend himself.

John made a desperate grab for the branch, both his hands held tight on the coarse bark, and he turned back to face the man who attended to bring him in to a life of imprisonment.

The sight on the other side made John stop as he recognized the dark hair and solemn eyes.

No, it couldn't be.

The branch was heavy in his hands, but he couldn't move. The pain bit into his lungs as the sudden exertion and _(oh god)_ the jolt of what he was seeing fought against his breath.

"John," the ghost whispered. How the emotions of astonishment and grief and guilt could be wrapped up and presented to him in one utterance of his name, John will never know but there it was.

"Sh-Sherlock?"

The ghost stepped onto the bridge and John took an instinctive step back.

"You are- You-" John stammered, tightening the grip on his makeshift weapon. "You're dead. I saw you die, Sherlock!"

Sherlock, or the ghost of Sherlock, took a deep and sporadic breath at the accusation as he stepped closer. "I thought for certain you were too. I heard about the seize and there would have been no reason for him not to-"

When Sherlock didn't continue, John laughed. It was a bitter and harsh laugh. "Yeah, well 'His Royal Highness' wanted me alive to watch as he destroyed my reputation and my kingdom."

Finally, he let the weight of the branch fall at his feet. He didn't realize how close Sherlock was until the man had to take a step back to avoid any broken toes.

It was all too much. There was only so much one man could endure. His friend and advisor's apparent (and now apparently false) suicide, the subtle attack on his name, the successful usurpation of his throne. King John was nothing more than a wicked villain in this tale and King Richard was revered as a savior. No one but a few was aware of the darkness that loomed ahead if the reign of King Richard continued.

"He's won, Sherlock. There's nothing left. Nothing. He took it all. "

James Moriarty, now known as 'King Richard', once made a promise to burn Sherlock's heart. He succeeded in burning all of England along the way.

Sherlock latched onto John's sleeve and held firm. John couldn't tell if the action was to reassure John of Sherlock's resurrection or reassure Sherlock of John's survival. Then, Sherlock did something that shocked John more than his return from the dead.

Sherlock smiled.

"Even the most reputable genius makes mistakes, John. Moriarty's mistake was to keep you alive. For that I am…" Sherlock paused to find the right word. He tightened his grip on John's tattered sleeve.

"…I am grateful."

John returned the gesture with a small smile of his own and a pat on Sherlock's shoulder.

"I prayed for a miracle after you died. I didn't think it would actually happen."

The sound of a horse neighing in the distance broke into conversation, reminding them both of John's dilemma.

"We have to go," Sherlock insisted, pulling John off the bridge and directing him into the shadows of the thick forest.

"Go? Where is there to go, Sherlock? I'm an exiled king. I'll be hunted to the ends of the earth."

"Which is why the best thing for you is to *not* go to the ends of the earth. They won't find you if you are hiding in plain sight."

"Hiding in *what*?"

"Do keep up, John. I had to take on a new occupation during my unexpected pilgrimage as a body of the undead. With it, I have a new name and a band of some appallingly merry men."

The surprise of Sherlock's news made John stop in his tracks. "Wait, what? *You're* the thief whose been causing all that trouble in Sherwood Forest. You?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and urged John forward. "If you hadn't the certainty of my death, I would weep at your idiocy. I'm sure you heard the same stories as everyone else."

"Those stories tend to be embellished." John sighed. "Although, I shouldn't be surprised. You do have a tendency to cause chaos and mayhem."

For the second time, Sherlock smiled. It was a mischievous smile and one John was more familiar in seeing.

"Want to see some more?"

There was only one answer John could give.

"Oh god, yes."


End file.
